


Shush

by l_cloudy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom Kylo, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Light Sadism, M/M, Muzzles, Sub Hux, actually they’re both insufferable so it works out very well in the end, in which hux is stubborn and insufferable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That all you can do?” Hux says, insolent to the last, and Kylo sits up, cups Hux’s jaw with something like tenderness  as he leans to whisper in his ear.</p><p>“Shut up,” he says, slowly. “Or I’ll gag you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shush

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr inspired by @[poedatemeron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mesutwoahzil/pseuds/poedatemeron)’s [ post](http://www.poedatemeron.tumblr.com/post/148228740750/subhux-headcanon-of-the-day-hux-talks-too-much):
>
>> sub!hux headcanon of the day: hux talks too much, he’s too fond of his own voice. so kylo muzzles him to keep him quiet and watches as hux’s frustration slowly collapses into calm. hux rests on the floor with his head pillowed on kylo’s thigh, as quiet and still as he’ll ever be.
> 
> Basically this, plus some extra kink and unexpected quasi-fluff. 

There are many things about General Hux that annoy Kylo Ren to no end. His stupid hair pomade, for one – thick and slimy on his fingers every time he tries to get a good handful, with a slight scent that that clings to his pillows and his sheets and his entire life, feels like. His bed always smells like Hux these days, and the presence of him lingers in Kylo’s rooms even after he runs out of patience and kicks him out, which usually happens no fewer than two times a week.

There are others. From Hux’s appalling taste in drinks to that obnoxious ginger felinx to his obsession with neatness, sometimes the General is more trouble than he’s worth. Hux can rile him up like no one else ever has before, his tongue sharp and cruel. He insults him in public and condescends him in private, contempt dripping from his voice even as he kneels, and the threat of punishment only seems to spur him on. He’s arrogant and disdainful, and it’s transparent how desperate he is to be put in his place, to find himself spread out on the bed kicking his heels into the mattress, begging for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. That is how they end their encounters, time after time, and when they met again the struggle begins anew, endless.

But, worst of all, Hux never, _ever_ shuts up.

There comes one night when Kylo’s had enough. He’s been methodically taking Hux apart for hours now, watched that icy coolness of his melt slowly into despair, watched him bite his lips raw trying not to sob and failing. He called him a nasty little slut and Hux _whimpered_ , red-faced and teary-eyed, his chest slippery with sweat and come. And through all of that he’d still been talking, spewing insults even as he begged to be fucked, daring Kylo to give him more – and now, sitting on Kylo’s lap with his arms bound behind his back and a cock in his ass, he looks straight at him and he smirks.

“That all you can do?” Hux says, insolent to the last, and Kylo sits up, cups Hux’s jaw with something like tenderness  as he leans to whisper in his ear.

“Shut up,” he says, slowly. “Or I’ll gag you.”

Hux’s pupils widen until his eyes are almost black, like a hit of spice straight into his system, and suddenly he lets out a startled noise and he’s coming, panting, spurting between their bodies with a violent shudder.

Kylo allows himself to smile. He clears his throat. “ _Well_ ,” he says, relishing the way Hux doesn’t dare to meet his eyes. “That was informative.”

Hux is trembling, a bead of sweat running over his cheek, dripping from his chin and splattering onto the mess on his belly. Usually he would be ready with a word of defiance, a quip, a studied roll of his eyes; he would be telling Kylo to fuck off. Instead he’s staying where he’s been put, meek and still, arms twitching in their invisible restrains and gaze trailed low, clearly furious and embarrassed at having been betrayed by his own body.

“Keep going,” Kylo says, thrusting up where he’s still lodged up inside Hux, making him whine. It’s bound to be unpleasant, so soon after, but that’s on him for coming before he’d been given permission. The thought of Hux’s discomfort brings a smile to his lips, makes him lean in for a hungry kiss, all warm heat and the salt of sweat on Hux’s lips. When he’s done he lies back flat on the bed and rests his head on his pillowed arms, smirking up at Hux in a flash of teeth.

“Keep going,” he says, again. “We’re not done yet.”

The threat of gagging turns out to be an effective tool. The next time they meet Hux is silent and compliant from the start, fidgeting even more than usual and only throwing Kylo the occasional insolent glare, but always stopping before he opens his mouth. It’s only after Kylo’s worked him up good and proper than he starts to slip, once his thighs are shaking and his hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed; that is when he lets go.

And let go Hux does, spitting out all manners of insults with that arrogant voice of his, keeping up a constant stream of filth, urging Kylo to go harder, to press bruises into his skin. And through all of this there’s an expectant look that never leaves his face, the self-satisfied air of a man delighting in his own cleverness. Hux is trying him, Kylo realizes, testing him – pulling the rope until it breaks and Kylo gives him what he promised, because Hux wants it, that much is clear. He wants it bad.

Kylo’s indulged in it before, sometimes. He’s filled Hux’s mouth with his gloved fingers or his cock, many times, because he likes the sounds Hux makes when he’s choking, likes the way he gasps, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, or sometimes just because he wants Hux to _shut up_ for five minutes – but this feels different, now. This would be deliberate, a show of force. He’d be taking something away from Hux, because he can and because he wants to, and these are the only reasons he needs. In these rooms he decides what Hux does and when he comes and if he’s allowed any reprieve at all; it seems just right that he’d take control over Hux’s voice, too.

But it will be on his terms.

Time after time Hux wants and Hux waits and Kylo refuses him. He wants it so much that sometimes Kylo feels Hux thinking about it, even when they’re outside the bedroom, a low humming in the back of his mind; but still he does nothing.

It would be different if Hux asked, if he acknowledged he needs to request Kylo’s permission for what he wants; but he never does, and Kylo will not stand for Hux assuming he can just make demands.

Kylo waits until Hux almost forgets that night and slips back into old habits, until he turns loud and disrespectful and patronizing once again – not out of deliberate calculation but simply because this is the kind of person Hux is, and he needs a firm hand to dispense corrections.

He waits and he waits, until one day when Hux is sufficiently annoyed over the usual inconsequential matters of ordinary administration, just upset enough that he forgets himself and strides inside Kylo’s quarters stomping like spaceport drunkard, sprouting something about proper protocols and overriding orders that makes no sense to begin with and absolutely has no place in these rooms.

Kylo remains where he is, cross-legged on the floor, until Hux has finished saying all he’d wanted to say. He’s been watching the General since he walked in, holding his gaze calmly, and now he keeps staring in silence until whatever annoyance Hux had been feeling fades and that self-righteous frown melts down into awkwardness, into embarrassment.

“Ren”, Hux begins, shuffling his feet, because even now he needs to hear himself talk, needs to fill his mouth with empty words and spit them out. “Ren, you know that I…” he stops, biting his lip. He thumbs at the clasp of his belt, fingers drumming slightly over the leather.

Hux takes a breath. “Ren,” he begins again, saying his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word he knows. The only word he can remember, lost in a dream. “Ren, I…” he trails off once more, red-faced and fidgety; and that’s when Kylo stands, slowly, and walks over to Hux with measured steps. He puts his hands on Hux’s shoulders and watches him squirm, watches as jaw slackens and his lids go heavy, half closed.

“You,” Kylo says, puffing hot breaths all over Hux’s neck. “Are insufferable.”

Hux’s throat moves as he swallows, sways a little where he stands. “Well,” he says. “Yes.”

And Kylo smiles at him, so subtle it’s barely there, pleased by the answering twist of Hux’s mouth in return, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles just slightly. He looks so very soft, Kylo thinks. When this thing they have crashes and burns, as it inevitably will, he’s never going to find anyone else who’ll fit him as well as Hux does.

“We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes,” Hux says, and Kylo tightens his hold on Hux’s shoulders and closes his eyes, reaching.

A few weeks ago, thinking ahead, he obtained a muzzle, thick leather and solid black, picturing how it would look against Hux’s pale skin, clasped over his mouth. It’s made of one solid piece, to keep Hux’s lips pressed tightly over his teeth and his jaw clamped shut, blissfully quiet. Kylo put it in his meditation room, so that Hux would not see it even if he went snooping, and it’s from there that he summons it now, with a mere thought and a crook of his fingers.

It takes hardly the time of a heartbeat; one minute he’s whispering into the skin of Hux’s neck, and the other he’s grasping his face firmly between his hands, staring into Hux’s face as the muzzle clenches shut. That is certainly an use of the Dark Side of the Force his Master wouldn’t be satisfied with, Kylo thinks, as the heavy buckles that secure the muzzle around the back of Hux’s head close as if by their own will. But this way he can just enjoy the view, look as the spark of confusion in Hux’s hazy eyes turns into realization, indignation, shame.

Want.

Then Kylo turns on his back and he walks away, striding towards his bedroom.

Hux follows, as if pulled along on a string, but when he reaches the entrance Kylo can hear his steps halt, can feel the hesitation that pours from him in waves. Kylo sat himself on the floor with his head resting against his bed mattress, eyes closed and back to the door, without even bothering to see if Hux came along. As if he doesn’t _care_ if Hux is here or not – because it’s attention he wants, so desperate for it, and he doesn’t deserves it yet.

He uses the Force instead, just to sound the garbled knot of Hux’s feelings – disorientation and humiliation and confused arousal, all wrapped into one.

He can hear the rustling of Hux’s clothes, the dull sound the fabric of his coat makes when it’s tugged, and Kylo can tell he’s testing the muzzle, trying to pry it open with his own hands. It won’t work, of course, and Kylo imagines how flushed Hux must be as he carefully traces the edges of the plasteel buckles keeping his jaw shut, how desperate.

Kylo lets time pass. It’s obvious Hux doesn’t know what to do with himself now – he’s standing there, emptied, and Kylo can picture his rigid military pose becoming more and more slumped as the minutes tickle by with no acknowledgment whatsoever. He could try to get Kylo’s attention in some way, but he cannot speak, and the thought of debasing himself by groaning in his throat like some savage animal is almost painful in the midst of the jumbled mess of Hux’s feelings. Kylo knows that because Kylo is listening, amused; and he waits.

Hux considers, briefly, the idea of throwing something at the wall to get Kylo to react, then immediately feels mortified at the realization that then he’d be acting just as childish as he often accuses Kylo of being. Kylo has to laugh at that, so impossibly loud in the silence of the room, and Hux jolts at the noise, almost crumbling on himself under the weight of the shame he’s feeling.

 _Fuck you, Ren_ , Kylo hears, pricking his mind like the sharp end of a needle, and he laughs again. He feels Hux walking over to him; and still doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t even deign to look at him, and that only makes Hux’s fury grow, and his arousal, and a mounting feeling of overwhelming impotence. Hux grabs Kylo’s shoulder with a jerky motion and grips him tightly, hard enough to bruise through all his layers.

“Are you _pinching_ me?” Kylo asks with studied hilarity, without turning his head. “What are you, five?”

And he doesn’t have to force the bust of laugh, not as Hux’s mind loudly telegraphs every action before he’s going to do it – he’s raising a booted foot now, preparing to kick sharply into his ribs.

Kylo freezes his leg midair and Hux stumbles, falling, landing unceremoniously on the floor across Kylo’s lap, legs stretched out and arms pillowed to cushion his face. Kylo sinks his hand in Hux’s hair and tugs, up and sideways, until Hux has to strain his neck to look him in the face. He really does look lovely like this, muzzled and silenced, with a high flush in his cheeks and his eyes filled with hot tears of rage.

“You’re acting out,” Kylo says, lightly. Warningly.

Hux’s eyes go very wide. He knows what this means – _acting out_ is what Kylo gives as a reason when he sends him on his way in the early hours of the morning, no matter how aching or unsatisfied they both may be. Acting out means he doesn’t want to bother with Hux anymore, whatever state he may be in.

“You don’t want me to send you away, do you?” Kylo says, tightening his hold. Hux is thinking, quite correctly, that if Kylo sent him out now he would have to make the walk to his quarters still in the muzzle, like some sort of wild animal. It’s not far and Kylo would wipe the mind of anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of the General in such a state, if asked properly, but it’s clear Hux doesn’t want to risk it. He shakes his head in Kylo’s grip, squirming, whimpering.

“Good,” Kylo says. He rearranges Hux’s pliant body so that his head is in Kylo’s lap, his long legs folded at the knees, curled around his body like a pet. He finds himself stroking Hux’s cheek lightly, tracing the contours of his face with the tip of a finger.

“Just like this,” Kylo whispers. “Like this. Quiet and still, just like you need. You may even find that you like it,” he adds, drily, and Hux turns his head to throw him a glare. A very weak glare.

He threads his fingers through Hux’s hair, over and over and over, and he waits.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in more arrogant, bratty sub!Hux, this fic has a loose companion in [Control](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7595938).
> 
> Find me on tumblr @[jonstark](http://jonstarks.tumblr.com/) to talk stubborn space morons, or the weather, or anything really.


End file.
